


The Forest Speaks

by Tehri



Series: Memories of Home [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo knows too many stories, Bofur needs to learn, Do not challenge hobbits when it comes to gardening, If Bilbo says the trees are alive they are alive, In which Thorin actually stops an argument, Mirkwood is creepy, Or plant-knowledge, The Old Forest is creepier, Thorin is so sick of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most hobbits, Bilbo held a great love for growing things. If there was one thing hobbits were truly skilled at, it was knowing if something was wrong with the soil or with the plants that surrounded them. And every fibre in his body was currently screaming that this forest was sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forest Speaks

Bilbo had made his mind up about the dark forest before they even took a step underneath its dark boughs – he didn’t like it, not one bit. Something felt wrong as soon as he looked at it, something that told him he shouldn’t set foot in there. The bad feeling wasn’t helped by Gandalf’s warning about staying on the path.

“Don’t stray off the track,” the wizard had said. “If you do, it is a thousand to one you will never find it again and never get out of Mirkwood.”

Bilbo didn’t need to be told twice – he would not leave the path, if so it was blocked by orcs armed to the teeth. The forest felt strange, as though it held some terrible secret that it would let them discover at an inopportune moment. A strange way to describe it, perhaps, but also the only way Bilbo could put words to the anxiety he felt when they started their long, slow journey.

“It feels a little like the Old Forest back in the west,” he said to himself as he stumbled over a root for what felt like the hundredth time. “The trees loom so horribly, and you feel watched for every step you take.”

Admittedly, Mirkwood did not have that sense of being horribly alive as the Old Forest had. Bilbo had been lured in there by some of his cousins during a visit to Buckland, and even though it had been in broad daylight he had been frightened enough to refuse to go near the forest again. Mirkwood was… It was frightening, but not in the sense that you stopped trusting the trees themselves.

“These trees aren’t like that,” Bilbo whispered to himself the first time he had to keep watch in the pitch black night. “These trees aren’t plotting amongst themselves, they don’t feel like they hate outsiders…”

That was probably the smallest comfort he could possibly offer himself. The trees didn’t feel alive. That was the entire problem with the forest summed up in one sentence. The trees just didn’t feel like they were alive at all, for all that they still had leaves.

Like most hobbits, Bilbo held a great love for growing things. If there was one thing hobbits were truly skilled at, it was knowing if something was wrong with the soil or with the plants that surrounded them. And every fibre in his body was currently screaming that this forest was sick.

Not that the dwarves would have believed him if he said anything. They seemed dead set on that the forest was enchanted and evil. The general mood of the company was sour and anxious, and no one was interested at all in hearing what Bilbo thought about this particular leg of the journey.

 

On the tenth day, Ori turned to Bilbo and begged him for tales of the Shire, anything that could remind them of something cheerful. Bilbo could only gloomily shake his head.

“The only tales I can think of in this place are about the Old Forest,” he said sadly. “And those aren’t cheerful tales at all.”

“Well, tell them anyway,” Ori urged. “Anything to take my mind away from this awful forest.”

The hobbit sighed softly and thought for a moment of where to start. There were plenty of old ghost-stories about the Old Forest; even the Brandybucks, who were in general those most fit and ready to deal with it, said that the forest was dangerous. Which, of course, only fuelled old superstitions.

“Well,” said Bilbo slowly, kicking at a twig before his feet. “The Old Forest lives up to its name. It’s truly ancient. It was a grand forest even when hobbits first settled in the Shire. Old stories say that even the first settlers kept away from there when they crossed the Brandywine.”

“Why so, if it’s merely a forest?” asked Balin as he slowed his step to walk beside him. “I thought hobbits liked forests.”

“In general, yes,” Bilbo answered. “But there’s… There’s something wrong about that place. It’s not like other forests.”

“A forest is a forest, isn’t it?” said Bofur, somehow sounding cheerful despite the oppressing gloom around them. “True, Mirkwood’s odd, but elven places are bound to be that way, aren’t they?”

“The Old Forest is not an elven land,” Bilbo said sharply. “When I say there is something _wrong_ with it, I don’t mean like this. Mirkwood is sick, the trees don’t feel like they’re alive. But the Old Forest? It’s so much more alive than other forests, it feels like an entity of its own…”

Ori and Balin exchanged quick looks.

“How do you mean?” the younger dwarf asked curiously.

“Have you ever had the feeling of being watched, despite knowing that you’re alone?” Bilbo asked, smiling wryly when Ori nodded. “That’s what it feels like in the Old Forest. You feel watched, constantly. You feel like someone, or something, is staring at you and planning to reach out and grab your neck and squeeze.”

“Sounds like a friendly place,” Bofur muttered, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. “And it’s always been like that?”

“As far as I know, yes.” Bilbo swore softly under his breath when he tripped over a root. “I can’t claim that I’m the best person to ask, though. I only heard the stories from my Brandybuck relations.”

“Brandybuck,” Balin said slowly. “That was the family in what you called Buckland, was it not? What do they know of the forest?”

“Far more than anyone else in the Shire,” the hobbit replied. “They live just on the border of the forest, wedged between it and the river. Perhaps not the best place to settle in, but they are more careful than most other hobbits.”

“It’s trees and a bit of water, and I do believe you said that the Brandybucks learn to swim and handle boats.”

“They do, but it’s not just trees.” Bilbo let out a low huff and shook his head. “You weren’t listening, Balin. The trees there aren’t _normal_ trees. Not in any sense of the word.”

“Next you’ll be telling us that they can move around,” Bofur said, flashing his companions a wide grin as they chuckled. “I don’t know if you remember this, Bilbo, but trees have these things called _roots_ that are stuck in the ground.”

Bilbo gave Bofur a long look and raised an eyebrow. Sometimes, it really did amaze him that these dwarves, who claimed to know so much more of the world than he, would try to reason around what every hobbit knew to be true regarding the land where they lived. They’d had a similar discussion once before, about the goblin invasion back in old Bullroarer’s time. Bilbo had spent several hours setting the dwarves straight.

“There’s a reason to why there’s a hedge running all along the border of the forest down to Haysend,” he said. “Anyone in the Shire could tell you of how the trees once attacked and attempted to crush the hedge.”

There was a moment of silence, during which the only things that could be heard was the stomp of dwarf-boots on the path. Bofur gave a nervous laugh and glanced around.

“You’re joking,” he said. “You’ve got to be.”

“I’m not. The hobbits that had settled in Buckland retaliated and went into the forest, cutting down hundreds of trees and making a huge bonfire in there. There’s still a glade where no trees will grow. I’ve seen it myself.”

“You mean you’ve been in the forest?” Ori asked. “You’ve really been in there?”

“Only once,” Bilbo admitted with a shudder. “You couldn’t pay me to go in there again. My cousins dared me, and as the fool I was I couldn’t let them call me a coward. Besides, Bucklanders sometimes go into the forest. It seemed safe enough.”

“I suppose you regret it now,” Balin said, smiling slightly and tilting his head.

“I regretted it immediately,” Bilbo sighed. “But I had to spend at least an hour in there, or I’d be forever branded a coward in their eyes. Trust me, I wasn’t well pleased about it. I got as far as the bonfire glade before I panicked and turned back.”

“So there really is a bonfire glade,” Bofur said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that the story about the forest attacking is true.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that no trees have grown there since then?” Bilbo shot back, raising an eyebrow. “The glade is still there, despite all the time that has passed.”

“Ah… Something with the soil?”

“Since when do you know anything about plants?”

“You _asked_ if I could explain it!”

 

Bilbo and Bofur continued arguing about the possibility of moving trees for quite some time; by the time the company had started setting up camp for the night on the dark path, each and every dwarf in the company had offered their piece on the subject, and Balin was keeping careful score of the sharp words passing between hobbit and dwarf.

Eventually, Thorin had had quite enough of the discussion.

“I couldn’t care less about who is right,” he growled. “I don’t care if trees are able to move or not. Now _please_ , master Baggins, if you are quite done demonstrating your superior knowledge of plants, and if master Bofur could see fit to stop challenging a hobbit’s knowledge of his own homeland, perhaps we might have our evening meal in peace and get some sleep.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile when Thorin turned away.

“How long have you been waiting to tell us to shut it?” he asked curiously.

“Since Bofur started arguing about plants, so for most of the day,” Thorin grumbled in response. “Had it been you arguing with Bofur about stone or ore, I would have let him continue until he was out of breath and your ears fell off. But as it is, we’re surrounded by trees and might not see much else for a very long time.”

“So you’d encourage talk about mines, about mountains and stone?” Bilbo’s smile grew wider. “Would that soothe your mind in this terrible plant-infested land, where no dwarf would willingly set foot?”

The corners of Thorin’s mouth twitched.

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but there was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes as he spoke. “Though I believe you mentioned something about a quarry in the Shire once.”

“Ah yes, the perfect way to soothe a band of nervous dwarves in a forest,” Bilbo chuckled. “Speak of a quarry in a land full of hobbits who don’t use the stone for much else than building walls or homes. I’m sure you’d all be scandalised at how we treat the place.”

“You’ve been there?”

“No, actually. I’ve been to Scary and to Quarry, but only passing through to see relatives.”

“Ah, that’s a shame…”

“Is that wistfulness I hear?”

“No, it’s disdain for people who don’t know to appreciate good solid stone,” Thorin said, shooting the hobbit a smirk.

“Your disdain normally sounds different. Like you’ve got something disgusting stuck in your throat,” Bilbo commented with a grin.

“It’s a different sort of disdain. So it has to sound different,” the dwarf explained with an air of great patience.

“What, so you have a specific sort of disdain for people in general?” Bilbo chuckled as he set up his bedroll.

“Of course I do,” Thorin replied haughtily.

“Which means you also have a specific sort of disdain reserved for me?”

“I do indeed.”

Bilbo laughed and shook his head.

“That really shouldn’t feel as flattering as it does,” he giggled. “Why does that feel flattering at all?”

“It tends to mean that you’ve moved into the circle of people I can call friends,” Thorin grinned.

“Oh, so I’m your friend now?”

“If you can promise me that you won’t spend all of tomorrow arguing about plants? Yes, I’d say that you are.”

“I make no promises, Oakenshield. Perhaps I’ll make gardeners of you lot one day.”

“Ah, you are a cruel creature, master Baggins…”

“And there’s the disdain that I recognise!”

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me. I have no idea why it went the way it did, I had intended for it to be a bit creepy. It ended up not being creepy at all. Why, fic. Why.


End file.
